


A Wrong Turn

by astomnus



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, Zombies Run!
Genre: Aromantic Runner Five, Kinda, Male Runner Five, No Romance, Other, WTNV Intern Runner Five, also now im using this as an excuse to make a conlang, at least not as a main plot point, but she doesn't get to use it bc everyone hides stuff from her, janine's the only one with a braincell, runner 5 is a prophet, sara adopts runner five, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astomnus/pseuds/astomnus
Summary: Weird things happen in Night Vale all the time, and for WTNV Radio Intern Micah, it's just another part of the job.But now, he's not in Night Vale anymore. He doesn't know where he is, who these people are, and what these strange half-dead creatures are. After a lifetime of weird, can he adapt to the normal? And what even is normal?
Relationships: Runner Five & Sam Yao, Runner Five & Sara Smith
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. We're Not in Kansas Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> my friend and i, on the top of a mountain, after taking several wrong turns and accidentally going on one of the hardest trails located in that area; haha what if night vale and abel somehow met?
> 
> also, you don't need any prior knowledge of either wtnv or zombies run, i plan for this fic to go at a pretty slow pace and a lot will be explained on the way. hope you enjoy!

There's a saying, in Night Vale. Or, at least, in Micah's family. 

_"Don't question the unnatural. Instead, question the natural."_

Of course, in Night Vale, the line between the natural and the unnatural is blurred like a mirage in the far-off horizon. Maybe Micah's grandparents took solace in these words, but Micah doesn't. It doesn't matter if something is unnatural, it doesn't matter if something _is_ natural. All that matters is luck, adaptability, and the ability to run at a moment's notice. That's what has kept Micah alive, and his parents before him, and _their_ parents before him.

So, when the landscape begins to blur and shift during his morning run, he doesn't question it. Doesn't even blink. Just quickens his pace, hoping that whatever it is, it'll be done before Cecil's segment starts. _Although,_ he muses quietly to himself, watching in fascination as the landscape swirls like a kaleidoscope, _if Dana can disappear to another world and come back with her internship spot intact, I suppose I can. It's not like this stuff isn't... uncommon._

The radio crackles in his ear for a second, the soft music replaced by static. It builds, growing louder and louder, until finally it reaches a deafening crescendo. With a _pop!_ it goes back to normal.

The landscape _snaps_ back into place, the pale gold sands of Night Vale's deserts replaced by lush, green grass, rolling hills stretching off into the far distance. Jagged peaks of earth stretch towards the sky, ancient monuments to who knows _what._ It's cooler here, and Micah slows, taking deep, _deep_ gulps of sweet, fresh air. He risks a glance behind him and, yep, there's no sign of Night Vale anymore. Which means there's only one thing to do now— keep running.

He starts up at a slow jog again, realizing that the crackling on his radio has returned. It's different this time, less _something different and possibly dangerous is happening_ and more _a signal is trying to get through but he's not in range._ Cecil taught him the difference last week. It's the absence of screaming voices in the background, the cries of the universe, that clues him in.

He picks up the pace, his legs already burning. Zigzagging wildly back and forth, the signal becomes clearer and clearer until...

There! It finally catches and Micah slows, struggling to slow his wild breathing. 

It comes in bursts, but the signal's there. _"Lone runner.... anyone out there.... can you hear me? Thirty or forty... **Run.**_ "

Micah's breath catches, and he doesn't question the order. Just takes off, running through the wet grass like the street cleaners are behind him. His running shoes are absolutely soaked, and he can feel his toes going numb. He is _hideously_ under-dressed for this weather. If he knew that he was going to be running through a cold field, maybe he would've worn his fuzzy sweatpants and a sweatshirt and _not_ cargo shorts and a tank-top. He doesn't even have his intern ID on him, it's sitting on the counter back at home.

The crackling on the radio is growing quieter and quieter, and the voice on the other end is growing louder and more clear the further Micah runs. It's _definitely_ not Cecil. This person's voice is fumbling, awkward and new. They haven't hit their stride yet, haven't figured out what makes their story _unique._ It sounds more like the first time Micah was on air than Cecil's broadcasts.

_"Look, I don't know if you can hear me, strange new runner. But you've outpaced most of the horde for now. Which means, hey, you're still alive! If you can hear me, you're gonna want to start heading left, there's five or so zoms lingering by that copse of trees in the distance and you're gonna want to avoid them."_

Of course, Micah can hear the radio operator's voice. But it feels like he's speaking a completely different language. Zombies? What...? Actually, he doesn't want to know. 

He dodges to the left, giving said copse of trees a wide berth. A _very_ wide berth.

A city rises up in the distance, and Micah's shoes are pounding against packed earth now, not grass. His legs ache and strain, his breath coming in hoarse gasps. Every bit of him yearns to slow down, and he just begins to do so when the earbud in his ear crackles back to life again.

 _"Wow, look at them— look at you go! You_ can _hear me! That's— that's great! Okay, okay, we can keep you safe. It’s cool, it’s cool, we can bring you in."_ Micah can hear whispering in the background, and it sounds like the radio operator is arguing with someone. He grimaces. 

And now there's a different voice talking. _"This is Doctor Myers, only medic here at Abel Township. Lord knows I’m sorry to ask you this, but your route will take you almost past the old hospital. We know there are medical kits still there from the first wave of infection - if you could pick up even one or two, that would help us."_

The two voices on the radio dissolve into bickering again, arguing about a "Runner Five" and "earning their keep," but Micah's already tuning it out. He can spot the hospital now, at least a dozen times bigger than the tiny one back at Night Vale. A tower rises above it, eerily reminiscent of the Night Vale Radio tower. He doesn't know _exactly_ what he's looking for, or what he's trying to avoid, but he tries not to question it.

He avoids the crowd of people standing in the parking lot, instead slipping through the back entrance undetected. A shiver runs down his spine. It reminds him of when he was younger, breaking into abandoned houses and running away from the Secret Police. Sure, he may not know exactly what's going on, but does he ever?

The sound of his footsteps echo through the empty hallways, stale air and old antiseptic burning his nose. This building is frozen in time, things scattered across the floor. He passes a waiting room and slows, staring at the scene as if hypnotized.

Chairs lay in disarray, looking for all the world like a crowd of people had been sitting here moments before, but had been spooked and fled the room as fast as possible, not caring if they left chaos behind them. Someone has left belongings behind, bags laying abandoned on the white tile. He distantly recalls the other voice saying that he has to bring something back. Hesitantly, quietly, he picks his way across the room and grabs the closest backpack, dumping out the contents. "Sorry," He says quietly, his voice lingering too long in the stale air. "I'm taking it for a reason."

He jumps— the radio operator's in his ear again. Heart thudding in his chest, he listens.

 _"Alright, hey, you're in! You're doing great so far, so I guess you're not injured or anything. So, uh, if you don't mind, I’m gonna call you Runner Five. Um, just 'cause… well, I don’t know your name, and we just lost a runner, in that same hospital you’re heading through now. She was so fast, really funny, and clever. Me and her, we sort of…"_ The voice sighs, and Micah takes that as a cue to start moving again. _" ...She was amazing. But hey! You could be our new Runner Five! If you make it back alive…"_

And oh, that's a threat if Micah's ever heard one. Despite his aching muscles he speeds up, grabbing anything that looks even slightly useful and throwing it over his shoulder and into the backpack. There's a box of paperwork just sitting on the ground, and if his internship has taught him anything, it's that you should never, _ever_ turn your back on paperwork. Or else it might grow fangs. He delicately picks it up, holding it close to his body.

_"The runners are pretty important here, they're the ones who keep Abel going. And— oh, wait. I think... hey! I've got you on camera now!"_

Micah slows, scanning back and forth. A camera sits above the doorway, staring down at him like a giant eye.

Slowly, hesitantly, he gives it a little wave.

 _"Yeah, hi! You're a little blurry, but it's great to see you!"_ There's a bit of a pause, then, _"Hey, uh, what are you carrying? Look at this, Doc - Runner Five picked up something in the hospital."_

"What, this?" He carefully lifts the box, brandishing it towards the camera. 

_"Is that the Centers for Disease Control file? Runner Five, I don’t say this lightly - that box could be worth your life to protect. Don’t drop it."_

He grumbles, holding the box close to his body again. "Wasn't gonna," He says, taking off down the hallways once more. "You guys don't have to keep threatening me, I'm a radio intern, this is my job."

Of course, the people on the radio don't hear him.

_"Aw, aww, no! This was what— when we sent her out, this was what happened! They’re following you, Five— the swarm from the car park, they’re following you! Now, run!"_

Micah breaks into a sprint, tearing down the hallway. He bursts through the main exit and _oh,_ by the great lights in the sky. The crowd of people previously gathered in the parking lot? They weren't— they aren't people at _all._ They stumble towards him, mouths gaping open, broken and disjointed and _dead_ but _not dead._ Unable to move, he stands stock-still, frozen like a hare caught in a trap. One lunges at him and he flinches, eyes opening wide.

He can see— _he can see it all._ All of it— what will happen if they catch him. It will hurt, it will hurt and it will hurt and it will hurt and it will _never stop._

Gasping for air, he nimbly dodges its lunge, taking off across the blacktop. His legs stretch and burn, his heartbeat is in his chest, but nothing he feels right now could ever come even _close_ to the hurt those... those _things_ carried with them. He barely manages to keep his hold on the box. 

His feet pound erratically against the concrete, his form is all off, and his lungs burn for air. He doesn’t care. There’s only one thing that matters right now, and it’s getting to wherever these people are. It’s getting _away_ from whatever those _things_ behind him are. 

_“They’re so fast, why are they so fast? They never run, why are they running?? Runner Five? Runner Five, they’re gaining on you!”_

Tears spring to Micah’s eyes and he gasps, pushing himself even further. He can’t, he can’t _do_ this. 

_“Come on Five, you can do it. Just aim for the radio tower, you’re almost there.”_

He can see the radio tower, and even though it’s not _his_ radio tower, it’s still a relief to see something familiar. He forces his tired legs to keep moving, to not stop, to not look back no matter how much he wants to.

The radio crackles back to life and oh, the radio operator sounds so _sad. “Oh, God… it’s her. I can see her… it’s Alice, it’s the old Runner Five. She’s the one chasing you, she’s… she’s still wearing her headset! She’s…”_

And then his voice cuts out, and there’s a new person speaking to him. _“Runner Five, it’s Runner Seven here, head of runners. The doctor’s told me you found something useful in the hospital. We’re sending out a couple of people to bring you in. Just keep running, as fast as you can! Don’t look back, she’s right behind you… just run!”_

He wants to gasp out a plea, to tell them that he wouldn’t slow down if the sheriff appeared in his path right now and told him to stop, but he doesn’t have any air left in his lungs. He’s suffocating, but even the immense fire in his lungs can’t compare to the suffering chasing him like a hound after the hare.

And then— then it all happens at once. People rush past him, the person on the radio cries out in pain and anguish, and Micah is running through the gates and into a town that’s _nothing_ like Night Vale.

He pants, hands on his knees, trying desperately to suck in air. He can hear people around him, crowding, asking questions he doesn’t know the answers to even if he could make them out. A familiar voice breaks through the chorus of voices. Micah glances up and oh, _oh,_ it’s them. The voice on the other end of the line. The unfamiliar operator.

The operator smiles and it’s like seeing the moon emerge from behind a cloud.

Micah sways back and forth, and the operator’s expression morphs to one of concern. He _thinks_ he says something along the lines of, “Are you okay?”

But everything snaps to black.

And Micah doesn’t exist anymore.


	2. Welcome to Abel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know,,,, if you think about it, this is technically canon in the night vale universe 👀  
> thanks huntokar  
> \----

Consciousness comes back to Micah in starts and fits. Glimpses of the real world, before he fades back into the darkness again.

A cool hand against his face.

A bright light shining in his eyes, white hot and painful before fading away again.

Struggling to sit up, something warm and tasty dribbled into his mouth, before being allowed to sink back into blissful unawareness.

Murmurs too fuzzy to understand.

By the time he finally opens his eyes for real, the light of the sun has faded and blissful dark has finally returned. He forces himself upright, squinting against the wooziness. He’s been lying in a plain metal cot, and though the floor is covered by rugs, nothing but a plain linen cloth protects him from the elements above. It’s held up by a mishmash of sticks, some metal, some wood. 

_What a weird building,_ he thinks to himself, bringing his legs closer to himself. And, oh, these aren’t his clothes. These are soft and warm, and though they’re stained with something dark they’re a million times better than what he was previously wearing.

A figure moves by the entrance of the tent, silhouetted by the hanging lantern. “Oh,” They stop, staring at Micah blankly, “You’re awake!”

They hurry over, gentle hands forcing Micah down again. “How do you feel?” They ask, and Micah grounds himself in their presence. Dark hands check his pulse, fluttering over him anxiously. 

“Uh,” His voice is hoarse. “Where— where am I? Who are you?”

Their hands still, and they look at him with concern. “I’m Doctor Maxine Myers. You’re in Abel Township, you collapsed at the gates nearly a day and a half ago.” Her voice is soothing, crooning at him like a half-forgotten melody. “Do you remember anything that happened yesterday?”

Micah shudders, memories of hurt that wasn’t his own and the burning that _was,_ and nods. “What… what were those things? The things that Hurt?”

Dr. Myers frowns at him. “Do you remember anything before yesterday? Where did you come from?”

And yeah, of _course_ he remembers yesterday. And the day before. And the day after that. “Uh… I’m from Night Vale. I’m the radio intern— Micah. Micah Summers.” Dr. Myer’s eyebrows furrow, and Micah rushes to explain himself. “I, uh, yesterday, I went on a run before sunrise, since I prefer to be inside before the sun starts coming up. Don’t like the noise. But as I was running, everything went all weird and blurry, and, yeah. I was running here instead. You know the rest, that’s when your radio operator started talking to me.”

Her face twitches, then smooths over into carefully constructed blankness. “If you don’t mind, where exactly _is_ Night Vale?”

“In America? Our closest neighbors are Desert Bluffs.”

Dr. Myers hums, pulling a water bottle almost out of nowhere and handing it to Micah, who wrenches it open and begins to guzzle it down. She rummages through a set of metal drawers, withdrawing a blood pressure cuff and fastening it around Micah’s arm. He does his best to stay still.

“You seem fine,” She says when it starts beeping, “But I’d like you to stay here the rest of the night, just to make sure you don’t have any hidden injuries.”

“Sure.” Micah settles down, snuggling deeper under the thin linen sheets. “Can I get some warmer blankets, though? It’s _really_ cold here.”

Dr. Myers nods, quickly leaving the tent.

Micah sighs, rubbing a hand against his temples. This is _such_ a mess. He oh so desperately wants to go back home, to return to bringing Cecil his mid-morning coffee and stealing away to the bathroom to pet Khoshekh and his band of quickly-growing kittens. He doesn’t want to stay in this weird other-world, to constantly worry about the Things that Hurt catching him.

The tent flap shakes and Micah’s head snaps, eyeing it warily. 

It’s not one of the Things, though. It’s the operator from yesterday, the one who. Oh. The one who he fainted in front of. He can feel his face growing hot.

The operator doesn’t seem to remember, thankfully. “Hey! Glad to see you awake, you gave us all a scare yesterday.” Nevermind. “I’m Sam Yao, Abel Township’s radio operator.”

Micah extends a hand, watches Sam’s warily for any sign of snakes. “Micah Summers, Night Vale Community Radio intern.”

Sam perks up, and his smile could light up a room. “Oh! You— you’re into radio too! That’s great, you’ll love it here. Jack and Eugene would be _delighted_ to meet you! When do you think you’ll be cleared by the Doc?”

And oh, isn’t that the million buck question. “I don’t know. She says she wants to keep me overnight, but your guess is as good as mine.”

“You can leave as soon as I’m sure there’s no lasting trauma.”

The new voice makes Micah jump, but it’s just Dr. Myers, a quilt draped over her shoulder that’s bigger than she is. Sam leaps out of the way as she gently lays it over Micah, and he snuggles deep into the warm blanket.

“There’s no trauma,” He says, ignoring the lingering hurt-hurt-hurt from those Things. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Dr. Myers levels Micah with a glare that could level buildings. He quails, falling silent and covering his mouth with the quilt. “You’ll be free to leave when I say so.” She turns, gesturing at Sam. “Sam, I need to talk to you for a moment.”

“Oh. Er— alright.”

Micah watches as the two file out of the tent, sinking down onto the stiff cot. He can hear them talking just outside, their words indistinct but still legible. His ears prick up, and despite the rock in his gut, he strains to listen anyway.

“...I think he’s suffering from delusions. Or a false memory.”

“What— what do you mean? Is he not remembering anything?”

“No, he’s remembering things but...” There’s a sigh, and Micah’s heart sinks. “...they’re impossible things. He says he comes from a town called Night Vale, but there’s no settlement in the near vicinity with that name. Said it’s from _America_. And he asked what the ‘Things that Hurt’ are.”

“...The zombies? How… how can you not know…?”

“I don’t know.” And oh, Micah wants nothing more than to disappear. “I think he’d be an excellent runner, but I just… I’d like to…”

“You wanna keep an eye on him, make sure he’s not a danger to himself.” Sam sighs, and there’s a lull in the conversation. “I’ll help.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll introduce him around Abel, make sure he’s alright. See if we can explain… see if we can _gently_ explain the whole apocalypse deal to him.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Yeah! It’s no problem. I feel bad for the poor dude, how’s he gonna react when he learns that all he’s known is a lie?”

Micah flinches, pulling the quilt over his head and blinking tears out of his eyes. Night Vale isn’t… it isn’t a lie! The last twenty years of his life isn’t a lie. He doesn’t know what kind of world this is, doesn’t know what the norm is, but Night Vale is _real._ It’s as real as the constantly moving markings along his body, as real as the third eye on his forehead.

He can hear footsteps outside his warm safe haven, and a gentle voice. “Hey, Micah? You alright?”

“Yeah.” He fees a surge of pride that his voice doesn’t waver. “S’just cold.”

“Sorry about that.” He can feel Sam sit down at the edge of the cot. “Not much I can do, we’ve been trying to set up an actual hospital building but that takes supplies. And we just don’t have that right now.”

Micah peeks his head out from under the quilt. Sam looks forlorn, a lone silhouette against the golden red light of the lantern. “What kind of supplies do you need?”

“God, it’s more; what supplies do we _not_ need?” Sam laughs. “Food is always a must. Medical supplies— the stuff you brought back from the hospital was a real lifesaver, thanks. To build with? We need lumber, nails, insulator… all of which are too heavy for the average runner to bring back on their own.”

Micah hums in reply. He wants to offer advice, but isn’t quite sure what’s normal and not anymore. Do they have bloodstone circles here? Angels? 

He’s interrupted by his thoughts by Dr. Myer’s reentrance. “Alright Sam, you better head on to bed now. I’ll keep an eye on Micah.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Sam hops off the cot, saluting both Dr. Myers and Micah, in turn. “Goodnight, see you two in the morning!”

Micah waves hesitantly, while Dr. Myers returns his farewell in turn.

It’s quiet in the tent now, silence only broken by the scratching of Dr. Myer’s pen on paper and Micah’s own breathing. Despite himself, he can feel his eyelids drooping, growing heavier and heavier with each passing moment. He yawns, wiggling deep into the mattress, giving up on the useless fight against sleep.

By the time Dr. Myers blows the lantern out, Micah is deeply asleep.

\---

The next couple of days are… rough.

That’s a massive understatement.

Dr. Myers clears him early the next morning, instructing him to get plenty of rest and hydrate often. Someone named Rajit shows him to the runner’s bunks, yapping his ear off the entire time about a book. Micah isn’t sure whether to take him seriously, or to laugh. Doesn’t he know that books are forbidden?

The first day, no one leaves him alone. He’s introduced to the other runners, told that he can join them if he wishes. That he would make an excellent addition to the team. He doesn’t quite know what being a runner entails, but he accepts anyway. He wants to _help._

He also learns that no one here is like him.

There are no fins, no wings, no horns. No incomprehensible eldritch beings, no shapeshifters. No glow cloud (all hail), no sentient rocks. He is the only one here with feathers growing behind his ears, with dark gold markings shifting against his olive skin. He’s the only one here with three eyes instead of two.

Everyone here looks the same. Earth-toned skin. Brown, green, or blue eyes. Four limbs maximum. Their faces blur together into a meaningless cacophony, and Micah is so desperately lost.

By the time he goes to bed, his head is pounding, desperately going over everyone’s names and trying to commit their faces— or, at least, their voices— to memory.

The second day marks the beginning of his training.

He joins the other runners at the training field, where Dr. Myers is running some drills. It isn't too difficult to keep up with them, listening idly as they crack jokes and attempt to keep him engaged in conversation. It's hard to focus when Dr. Myers keeps shooting him weird glances.

The other runners remind him of the pack of coyotes who lived behind his house back at Night Vale. Wild, rambunctious creatures who were just as likely to bite and snarl at one another as they were to spontaneously play fight, wrestling one another to the ground in good fun. Of course, these people don't have fur. Or spikes. Or glowing teeth and five eyes.

He feels a pang of loneliness.

There's one runner who keeps falling back to join him, attempting to make small talk. Micah has _no idea_ what she's talking about, but tries to engage regardless. Her name is Jody. Jody Marsh. Runner Four. These people have so many names.

He can't tell if he did a good job or not, but by the end of the training she tells him that he's welcome to hang out with her any time.

He tries to ignore the strange looks he’s getting from _both_ Dr. Myers and another woman who goes by Runner Eight.

Micah sleeps well that night, at least.

During the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days, the quiet ache of homesickness deepens into a pit of longing. Why couldn't he have just slipped something, _anything_ into his pockets from home? A bloodstone, a piece of shed chitin from Khoshekh, one of the angel’s feathers. He isn't picky.

The fact that no one’s leaving him alone has grown from vaguely comforting, to slightly annoying, to just downright creepy. If it was just him being tailed, he could handle that. It wasn’t any worse than being watched by the secret police. But it was _worse._ Every time he tried to get more than thirty minutes alone, someone would undoubtedly find him and start making small talk. It makes his skin itch, and he has to pluck at least a dozen feathers that have started to sprout from the stress. He’s resorted to hiding in storage closets just to look at old pictures of Night Vale on his phone.

He’s growing desperate. He knows this. Dr. Myers knows this. Sam knows this. All the runners are giving him side glances when they think he’s not looking. He’s pretty sure even the leader of Abel, Janine, knows this.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he throws himself headfirst into training. 

It all comes to a head after a week.

Janine and Dr. Myers clear him for a mission outside of Abel, accompanied by a more experienced runner. Unfortunately for him, it’s not Jody, who’s progressed from simple small talk into attempting to teach Micah how to knit. It’s also not Evan, who’s nice enough, or Simon, who’s jokes put him at ease, or Maggie.

No, it’s Runner Eight. Sara Smith. Whose gaze is as sharp as barbed wire, who keeps watching Micah like he’s a bomb about to go off. 

Because of _course._

His hands shake as he goes through the motions of stretching. Already his heart is pounding in his throat, and he hasn’t even left Abel yet. He risks a glance to his side— and yep, Eight is already giving him the side eye.

Short-breathed, Micah stoops to pick up his brand new bat. He’s not sure whether he’s more panicked about who he’s running with, or what he’s going to be running from.

The radio crackles in his ear, and at least that is familiar now. _“Alright Five, Eight. You ready?”_

“Ready!”

“...Ready.”

_“Alright, raise the gates! Covering fire…. Go!”_

The two runners take off. Micah stumbles on a rock, but manages to right himself before he smacks into the road. He's just found his stride when Eight looks back at him, and _wow_ he does not like the glint in her eyes.

 _“It’ll be a slow, gentle run today, nothing too fancy. If we're lucky, you won't even run into any zoms!”_ And oh, isn't that a relief to hear. Even if he still has no idea what these “zoms” are. _“You’ll be heading near the edge of town today to check out an overturned delivery truck.”_

“Copy that, Sam.”

The morning air is crisp and cold, a welcome change from the arid desert air Micah is used to running through. He feels like he could run forever, easily keeping pace with Eight despite the ache and strain of his legs. When he glances back, Abel is already obscured by trees. Despite himself, he can feel his heart soar.

Maybe this is where he belongs. The wind in his hair, a dirt road under his feet, an empty bag strapped to his back that will soon be full of supplies to benefit his new community.

His optimism lasts a whole minute before it’s smashed apart.

Eight has begun to cough, a hoarse, rasping cough that sends shivers down Micah’s spine. She glances back at him again, a grin on her face. He tilts his head, shooting him a confused look.

_“Aw man, Eight, are you sure you should be running today? Your cough sounds nasty.”_

“I’m fine, Sam. It’s just a cough.”

_“Are you sure? What if—”_

“If it bothers you so much, I’ll just turn off my headset. Let you rest in peace.”

_“Eight, don’t you dare turn off your headset, you know Five’s still doesn’t work—”_

“It’ll be fine, Sam.” With that, she reaches up and clicks her headset off. As Micah watches in thinly-veiled horror and suspicion, she drops back to match his pace, grinning at him. “I think you and I should have a little talk, Five.”

He can still hear Sam panicking in his ear, but he knows Sam can’t hear anything on his end. He’s all alone out here.

“Um. Alright.” He focuses on the way his shoes pound against the dirt road, and not on the way his heartbeat jackrabbits and his hands begin to shake again. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Who are you really?”

He glances over, heart dropping.

“See, I find it real suspicious that someone like you would just show up days after a supply chopper went down, with no memory, no supplies, and no ID. Really makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“I have—” _I have memories._ “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She shoots him a disbelieving look. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Micah sighs, staring resolutely at the path ahead. “Alright, then. What do you think happened? What did I do?”

“I think that you knew the supply chopper went down. In fact, I think you were the one to _shoot_ it down. I think that there’s no way you were there, at just the right time and place, to help our township collect those necessary supplies from that hospital.”

He has absolutely _no idea_ what she’s talking about.

There’s a groaning near his left ear and he flinches, jumping towards Eight. “Whoops! Duck down there, sweetheart.”

As soon as he processes her words, he ducks down, hands covering his head. Not a second too late, either. He can _feel_ her bat fly over his head, slamming the Thing that Hurt square in the head. He squeaks, and when he glances up again, her grin is predatory.

“What—” He glances back at the rotting thing, now sprawled against the road. “What _are_ those things? No one’s telling me.” He tries to hide the panic in his voice, but it’s as clear as the viscera now covering the dirt in the road behind them.

For the first time since Micah has met her, confusion and uncertainty flutter across her face. “...What do you mean?”

Sam’s still talking in his ear, but the mild panic in his voice has transformed into all-out terror. Now that Eight’s stopped grilling him, he can finally tune back in. _“Five! Eight, come in! Seriously, you guys need to turn_ now!”

Eight tilts her head at him, birdlike and harsh. He gestures at his headset, and she reaches up to turn it back on. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

 _“Don’t you ever, ever,_ ever _turn your headset off during a run like that, Eight! You know better than to breach protocol like that!”_ The raw terror in Sam’s voice shoots chills down Micah’s spine. _“A— a horde came out of nowhere. You’re boxed in, your only way is out is a sharp left, over a ditch, and through a copse of trees.”_

“Copy that.” Eight’s face is grim. “Five, I need you to keep pace.”

“Alright.”

Eight swerves on her heel, breaking off from the road. Micah follows suit, lengthening his stride to keep up with her. He can hear the groaning of the Things that Hurt behind him, and panic shoots through him, skin itching.

The ditch looms ahead. Eight clears it in one leap. Micah doesn’t even think, just bounds after her. The harsh impact jolts his body and he stumbles, righting himself quickly. 

She barely glances back. “Keep up now, Five!”

Out of breath, he just nods, quickening his pace.

True to Sam’s word, there’s a small copse of trees just ahead. Eight makes a beeline towards it, but Micah slows, glancing around. Something feels… off. 

“Eight!” He calls out. She glances back. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

She frowns. “Sam, is there anything around us?”

_“Uh… yeah? The horde of zombies around you? Keep moving and head through the trees, that should lose them.”_

“Eight, I’m serious, something doesn’t feel right.” It’s the same prickle of anticipation he got all the time in Night Vale. The slow, cold feeling of being dunked in ice water, the moment of calm right before some eldritch horror lunged at him. It’s the feeling that’s always kept him _alive._

“Five, are you sure—”

The trees explode.

Micah flinches, lunging forward and dragging Eight back from the now rapidly approaching wall of death. The Things that Hurt snarl and lunge at them, and Micah growls back.

They’re trapped. Surrounded. No matter which way Micah looks, he can see more approaching. Besides him, Eight readies her bat.

Already feeling queasy, Micah opens his third eye.

Visions of the future accost him, a million ways this situation can go wrong, that these beings can lunge forward and catch him or Eight on the arm, or the head, or the leg, and the hurting will begin and begin and begin again and again and again and again—

There’s a pattern. Micah can only see ten seconds into the future, but these creatures aren’t invincible. They can’t act unpredictably, and walk forward with a single purpose, unable to adapt or change.

One of the creatures lunges forwards, but he’s already seen this happen. He swings at it, dislodging its head with one, swift movement. He dispatches another that would’ve bitten Eight on the back of her neck.

He spots an opening in the crowd seconds before it happens, shoving Eight towards it. “Run!” He shouts, twisting around to take care of one that would’ve gotten him before following suit.

They bolt at a breakneck pace. Micah can hear Sam screaming in his ear, but he can’t focus on that. It’s only been a few minutes since he’d opened his third eye, but already he can feel the dizziness and confusion catch up with him. It hurts, it hurts so _much,_ but he can’t close it yet. There could be— one lunges up at him from the grass, a few seconds before it actually happens. It takes him by surprise, but he manages to dispatch it.

As soon as the coast is clear, Micah stops, gasping for air. He presses his hands to his face, finally closing his extra eye, trying to ground himself to this moment. He can hear Eight stop, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Five? What in the actual _hell_ are you?”

Micah bristles, struggling to draw in breath. Everything’s too bright, too loud, too _much._ The radio crackles in his ear and he shudders, flinching away from it.

_“...Five? Eight? Are you alright?”_

Eight’s quiet for a long moment, and Micah drinks in the silence gratefully. “There was a horde hidden in the trees,” She says, and her voice is soft now. “Five’s having a panic attack. Is there anywhere safe nearby?”

_“Er… yeah. Yeah, there should be an outpost not too far away. It should be… yeah. Your three-o-clock. Just through this meadow.”_

“Sounds good.” Her hand is on his back now. “You heard the man, Five. Just a little longer.”

He nods, stumbling forward.

The world dwindles down in size. The only things that exist now is the gentle hand on his back, the grass scratching at his legs, and the earth beneath his feet.

That walk lasts both an eternity, and only a couple of seconds.

Cool shade brushes over his skin, and he can hear a door being closed. Gentle, calloused hands settle him down on something soft and he shudders in relief. His headset is teased off him, and all that’s left is silence.

Eventually the vertigo fades, replaced by the calm present.

When he raises his head, Eight— Sara— is already staring at him. He shifts uncomfortably, but there’s no malice in her gaze now, just concern. She switches her headset off, lying it on the ground next to her. “Alright, kid. What’s up? Where are you _really_ from?”

She’s staring at a specific spot on his cheek. He lifts his hand and gently touches it. His fingertips are met by cool, silky softness— feathers. The markings on his body are roiling and he’s covered in patches of black feathers.

Ah.

Yeah, that’s— that’s a problem.

His voice is quiet. Subdued. “I’m from a town called Night Vale. I am… _was_ a radio intern, who knows if the position is still mine.” He chuckles dryly. “A week ago, I was doing my morning run, and then somehow, I ended up here. I don’t know how— I don’t know why— I don’t even know where I am! No one will _tell_ me anything! All I know is that it’s cold here, if I leave your township I’ll be chased down by the Things that Hurt, and everyone’s acting like I’m about to break!”

He pants, exhausted by his own outburst. Sara’s eyebrows are raised. “And you didn’t tell anyone this?”

“I tried. Dr. Myers didn’t believe me.”

“Ah. Well, to be fair, if I hadn’t seen you go all monster, I wouldn’t have believed you either. Sorry, kid.” 

“That’s alright.” He rubs his arm, feeling the smooth, silky softness of his feathers underneath his hand. “I’m learning that this, uh, this world’s a bit different than my own. This kind of stuff is uncommon, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.” She stares at him for a moment too long, then blinks and looks away. “You’re in Britain. The zombie apocalypse started six months ago, give or take a couple of months. That’s what those things are. Zombies. You let one of those things bite you? You become one of them.”

“Good to know.” He shudders.

She eyes him warily. “You alright, kid? If you’re not up for being a runner, I can let the powers that be know.”

“It’s alright. I’m good at running, it’s just…” He gestures up at his closed third eye. “When I open my third eye, I can see a couple seconds into the future. It’s nothing too fancy, but it— it overwhelms me. I can see everything that _could_ happen. Including, uh, including what would happen if one of the zombies bit me.”

Silence fills the concrete building. When Micah risks a glance, Sara is staring at him with thinly veiled horror.

“...Are you sure?”

He meets her eyes resolutely. “I’m sure.”

She stands, handing him something. It’s his headset. He puts it on, just as Sara puts her own on. “Alright, Sam.” She says, striding over to the door. “We’ll be finishing this mission after all. What’s the fastest route to the truck?”

_“Oh! I— uh— are you sure? There’s no shame in coming back.”_

Micah nods. Sara grins wildly. “We’re sure.”

 _“Alright, then, if you’re sure. You’re gonna head…. Head towards your two-o-clock. That should take you back to the road,_ away _from the horde.”_

“Copy that, Sam.” She swings open the door, turning back towards Micah, feral grin plastered on her face. “Ready to prove your worth, Runner Five?”

He matches her grin. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”


End file.
